le maître, le roi, et le fantôme
by When the Moon Met the Sun
Summary: "You see, I am not a man. I am the King of Illusion." One-Shot. VoltxSpectraxGus


_**Well, here is another one-shot for shrewd reader eyes. This makes use of the quietest of Vexos, Volt Luster, in a triangle with good ol' Spectra and the ever-present Gus.**_

_**Inspired by Zazie's song Je Suis Un Homme. Check it out. It's deep~**_

* * *

**le maître, le roi, et le fantôme**

Once, he'd been what they were. Once, he'd been part of that class of uncivilized simpletons, merely living to destroy. Once, he'd been a _caveman_.

The very acknowledgment of the fact repulsed him, but as he stood on his tower of raging fire and bright divinity, he realized he was the lucky one. From his perch, he watched people, watch them wander aimlessly through their lives–living because they awoke; because vital signs proclaim they live; living because that's what they call the absurd combustion of motion. They live in ignorance because to them, they open their eyes every single day.

They are still blind.

Those people did not realize how far from perfect they were; how prehistoric. He alone had been given the power of creation, and create he would. He could build what no one else had ever dreamed of–a brand new world, a new class order.

A civilization.

Yes, Spectra could create, but he could also destroy.

It was in these moments–standing and breathing in what would be his–that a smirk caught his lips. He could save these people, if they wished it so. If not, he didn't know hesitation.

-X-

As easily as he'd moved up in the ranks, he'd just as easily been deceived.

He knew the leader saw nothing in him. He was merely a tool, a means to an end. And the beast could have his end justify any action he took. To him, Volt came as close to being a person as a _fish_ did. Perhaps he even moved up to the level of primate on the beast's good days.

With that, he believed himself to be satisfied.

What more could he have been offered that he didn't already have?

He had possessions painted in gold. He had obsession-dipped fans. He had the most earnest platonic adoration.

It certainly beat being a trailing puppy dog.

Why did he feel unfulfilled?

He'd been uprooted and placed among the best. Among them loneliness sprouted, gripping his being and choking him until all he'd become was a machine of devastation, seeking and destroying on command. He'd tried to drown it, willing himself to believe he didn't have to be alone.

But in a sea of millions, he could feel the beast feed off their warmth, including his. While Volt stood in the background, cold, the puppy sat on the red coattails, basking in the heat.

The riches, fame, and love weren't his, he remembered then. They belonged to the vision in red. Volt could only borrow them and hope to return them almost intact.

-X-

The fools, naive and delectable...no, not delectable...defenseless.

He wished to believe them lamb. Weak. Assailable.

The one with power, the predator, was Spectra, the one with the _lion heart_.

Who else could embody the syllables of flawlessness these mortals could never reach?

Only Spectra.

At one point, he too had blindly followed a lit path, but upon Spectra's birth, his sight had been restored, he'd inhaled for the first time. Now he was beautiful, powerful.

Glorious.

And what did they know, the cowards?

The fight for enlightenment was perpetual. It mattered not what hour, what season, covered the world. He would not, could not, cease his war.

War, for him, was eternal.

Bliss.

Didn't they see what he was accomplishing? Didn't they understand the potential the world held?

They did not.

He'd stand still and watch his enemies fall.

-X-

It took Volt little time to see the cracks in his mission. He observed the beams upon which their plans were built sway in the breeze. Maybe that was why he never truly bought the beast's arrogant ideals. Maybe it was his way of rejecting the beast himself.

The beast knew.

He did not see the cracks, but he did inhaled the doubt and scorn. At such times, Volt would receive a cold, fixating blue stare. Volt would retaliate, albeit less forcefully, the silent battle enduring for as long as time could bring itself to hold still.

Then the dog would whimper, demanding attention, and the moment would float up into the air, lighter than any element, until it was dissipated in the atmosphere, all traces of it erased. Volt would turn and walk away, picking up his resentment and holding it close.

In the strongest tempests and calmest tides, he _walked_.

-X-

Spectra was more than a man, but slightly less than a deity.

He had more ambitions than he could hold onto. That, however, was a problem.

He resolved it rather easily by recruiting the best to aid him. He passed out his ambitions like flyers, ingraining the task deeply into their beings. He doused them in determination and victory. He allowed them to taste the sweetness of revenge and to explore the darkest recesses of their minds. He was doing them a service, civilizing them from the brutes they had once been.

The could formulate and calculate and bicker without end. They could claim victory, prizes, glory, and _destroy_. Never create. They could shower him in compliments and innocent stares, but he knew he could trust no one.

Except that he could.

Only one.

One was enough.

He didn't need multitudes. He only required one person to trust and to follow him unconditionally. The rest he could accomplish alone.

With a snap of his fingers, he could create love. With a flick of his wrist, he could create dissent and revolution. What use did he have for anything else when love and revolution were all cavemen were capable of?

His emerald favorite had easily embraced both factions. After all, his attachment transcended reason, and perhaps that was the quality Spectra liked the most. The emerald was no one to question Spectra's power and his right to exercise it.

The right to reconsider belonged to him exclusively.

-X-

_Drive forward, push relentlessly, corner the enemy._

The beast meticulously wrapped them around his standard of attack. He'd submitted, no alternative to the force thrusting him into battle, into what was called _advancing_.

They gained no ground, though. Volt could only be pulled back, away from the field, farther and farther until the battleground was only a speck in his eye. They were advancing backwards, losing due to their own near-sightedness. The beast was losing the sea, his fire was dimming, and the puppy cocked his head in confusion.

_That's right_, Volt would think to himself. _He's not who you think._

The beast was not the dog's master because he was not a man anymore. His colors had dulled, his movements held no action. He'd become a mere specter. Sometimes Volt would even think in the beast's terms and consider him a king.

A king of illusion.

The discolored image faded more each day that went by, and Volt still wondered why they couldn't see through it. They ignored the shadows that danced around the red coat or the waning determination in his gait.

He was the king of cons.

-X-

He did not yield to any for he could build his own destiny.

The world was a blank canvas waiting for him to paint it and bring it to life. One by one, the colors would come together, the most important ones joining at the end.

Red would bleed life onto the page.

Emerald would bring loyalty.

Gold would bathe the world in splendor.

They would bow down, they would worship.

Spectra. The master.

He would command the fire, directing it to burn those opposed, cleansing.

He was the master of fire, of the game of life, of the world.

And look what he'd made of it.

-X-

Polar opposites.

Volt and the beast were not made of the same materials. Volt felt the pain of breathing in his smoke, the sting of truth on his skin. His flesh burned when the beast became careless.

The beast was more spirit than actual bone. He floated while the rest of them walked. His body had become a cage for the monster within, so he'd merely discarded it with a gleaming mask and a billowing coat. His heart did not beat, imprisoned in the darkest of cells. He did not feel.

What had he made of the world?

It was cold, lifeless.

It was burnt, scorched.

It was his land, but he left it behind.

Where was he?

He stared as the palace walls crumbled and as they all fled, taking the cowardly way out. In seconds, the wall became pebbles, and the mistake was all too clear. Men built tributes to themselves to last eons, but time was too harsh and the structures too fragile.

It would end and the beast would finally walk.

-X-

In a moment of definite defeat, the mask comes off and he's no longer the Phantom.

His feet touch the ground, his head leaves the clouds.

His ambitions...his nature...it'd been wrong.

There was no judge to sentence him for his crimes, only an extended hand and a warm embrace. He took them both greedily, traces of the brilliant red lingering.

He took his first step, dirt connecting with his sole, and he sentenced himself.

As his punishment, he would walk.

* * *

**_Now, reader, feel free to press the little button at the bottom of the screen and review. Criticism appreciated :D_**

**_Cocoacharm15_**


End file.
